


A Reason to Dance

by Hazelmist



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Autumn, F/M, One Shot, Spiked Cider, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-03 21:33:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17291837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazelmist/pseuds/Hazelmist
Summary: Spiked cider, bonfires and traditional mating rituals. Rose is dancing with someone else and the Doctor is definitely not jealous. TenxRose.





	A Reason to Dance

It starts off like any other day…

 

They came to enjoy a fall festival but stumbled upon a lost child almost immediately. It took over an hour to locate the frantic grandmother in the bustling crowded market, and nearly another hour to convince her that they were not gods in disguise and there was no need for gifts or praise. By that time the sun’s low in the sky and the vendors are closing up shop.

 

“Allow me to buy you both a cuppa, it’s the least I can do,” she cajoles them, and then the capricious grandchild’s running off again and they’re left holding two deliciously steaming drinks. It’s definitely not tea, but they’re certainly not complaining. The Doctor takes a tentative sip and Rose tastes sweet heaven.

 

“ _Oh_ , this is gorgeous,” Rose moans and cradles the paper cup in her hands. The Doctor informs her that it’s only the _second_ best cider in the galaxy, but she doesn’t care. Whatever it is, it’s amazing. “Nectar fit for the gods,” she teases him with a tongue-touched grin and raises her cup for a celebratory toast. He indulges her and some of the hot liquid sloshes over the rim, dripping over the back of her hand. She tries to wipe her fingers on her hoodie before they get sticky, but he takes her hand and licks it clean with one deft sweep of his tongue. Rose’s face warms, but he doesn’t notice. He never notices. He’s not human, she reminds herself, but sometimes she wonders…

 

“She thought we were gods.”

 

“Not the first time it’s happened,” he reminds her. He’s right of course. With his sonic screwdriver and propensity for making the impossible happen, the Doctor’s frequently categorized as a miracle-worker. Today though hadn’t required any feats of “magic” to bring about the reunion.

 

“Why do you think she said that?”

 

He shrugs his shoulders.

 

“I mean, we didn’t do anything, just minded the grandson and tracked her down.” She puzzles over it until he answers her with a surprising amount of gravity.

 

“Maybe it wasn’t as impressive as other times we saved the day, but her grandson’s all she has left and today she almost lost him,” he explains. “In that one hour without him she was terrified that she’d lost the one person she loved more than anything else, the most important person in her world.” Turning away from her, he faces the weak light slanting in between the now empty covered stalls.

 

“But then we showed up and she found him.” Rose nudges him with her shoulder and loops her arm through his. “A happy ending.”

 

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. The sun slinks behind the town wall and the two of them walk through the scattered red leaves and lengthening shadows. He talks the whole time, but his mind is large enough that he can turn the gob on and still be somewhere else. She finishes her cider and he whisks her off in hot pursuit of smoke. They may have missed the market, but the night’s festivities are just beginning.

 

They join the others, lighting the bonfire and listening to the stories of the origins of the autumn festival. Then the music starts and the dancing around the fire. She’s never seen the instruments they play or heard any of the songs before, but the music feels the same to her. A local sweeps her off her feet and she stumbles through the jaunty steps until she finds the rhythm. She’s stepped on his toes three times, finished her second cup of spiked cider and is laughing by the time the Doctor cuts in.

 

“Enjoying yourself?”

 

“Aren’t you?”

 

“Not nearly as much as you and your new friend.” He glances darkly over her shoulder at the attractive younger bloke.

 

“Jealous?” she teases him, toying with the lapel of his coat.

 

“Timelords don’t get jealous,” he says loftily, but his fingers tighten around hers and his hand slides almost possessively over her backside. He’s a better dancer than her, leading her through the steps with an ease and grace that seems at odds with those long gangly limbs. The fire burns brighter with every turn and she feels the warmth of the alcohol and his intoxicating presence suffusing her body. He twirls her around and she swears she can sense the planet moving beneath them. The world keeps spinning long after he catches her flush against his body.

 

“Rose?”

 

“Mmmm.” She nuzzles the buttons at the front of his shirt.

 

“Think we should head back to the TARDIS.”

 

She lifts her heavy head and is startled to find the air thick with smoke as the locals put the flames out. People are leaving, saying goodnight and goodbye, some coupling off for the first time. Most of them aren’t being very shy about it.

 

“It’s a traditional mating festival,” he informs her after they nearly trip over a busy couple behind a bale of hay.

 

“Could’ve mentioned that to me before I started dancing with that single bloke,” she grunts noting that it’s her dance partner from earlier and a girl about her own age who couldn’t wait to get home. “What would you have done if I had gone off with him?” she asks as the pair stumble to their feet, brushing straw from each other’s hair.

 

“That wouldn’t have happened.” He sniffs, adding, “He’s not good enough for you.”

 

Rose snorts as the giggling couple run off into the night together. The cider gives her some liquid courage to keep the subject flowing.

 

“Dunno, he was a bit… _pretty_.” She’s itching for a reaction from him. She gets one, but it’s not the one she’s expecting.

 

 “I’m pretty,” he practically growls.

 

“Yes, but you don’t...” she trails off as their eyes meet. There are burning embers reflected in his gaze. Maybe all it would take is a spark… “Doctor, you don’t _dance_.”

 

“What are you on about?” He scoffs, tugging her away from the smoldering remains of the bonfire and down an alley that’ll take them back to the TARDIS where he can shut the door on this whole conversation. “We just spent the last forty-seven minutes dancing circles around everyone else. Clearly, I can dance and I _do_ dance.” He guides her out of the path of another horny couple, smoothly gliding around her, letting go of one hand to take the other. Rose sighs.

 

“That’s not what I’m-” But it’s too late, he’s already babbling.

 

“Did I ever tell you about the time the King of Prussia asked me to teach him how to dance, so that he could impress the Lady Albans? Mind you this wasn’t Earth’s Prussia, you wouldn’t believe how many Prussia’s there are in the galaxy-”

 

Rose rolls her eyes as he dances away from the topic and steers them back onto their woefully platonic track. Some of the earlier warmth leeches from her veins. The cider had been strong but not strong enough to change the unshakeable truth she constantly struggled against. The Doctor wasn’t the God that people mistook him for, but he wasn’t a mere human either. He flirted but he didn’t dance. He was above that sort of thing, he didn’t have the same urges that she did, and even if he had who was to say that she and her ephemeral lifetime were worthy enough to match with someone who was practically immortal?

 

“Rose?”

 

Shaking herself out of her reverie, she realizes that they’ve stopped a short distance from the TARDIS and that he asked her something.

 

“’m sorry, ‘m listening,” she urges him to continue. His eyes sweep over her, softening. He releases her fingers to wrap his arm around her.

 

“Are you tired?” he asks, rubbing warm circles on her back as he leads her to the TARDIS. “I was going to take you to Prussia, not Earth’s Prussia, there’s this dancing contest, but we could always do that tomorrow.”

 

“Trying to prove something to me?” she teases him with a flirty smile as he fishes the key out of his pocket.

 

“I _can_ dance,” he insists, unlocking the door and holding it open for her.

 

“Really?” She arches a brow and catches the tip of her tongue between her teeth.

 

“Yes, _really_.” He shuts the door behind them and lounges against it. She rakes her eyes over his deceptively lanky form. And damn, it’s a bleeding shame he doesn’t dance because he looks like he’d be a bloody good dancer. Crossing her arms over her chest, she steps forward with a challenge.

 

“Then by all means take me to Prussia and prove it.”

 

“I could,” he pushes off the door, leaning in so close that his cider sweet breath fans out across her face. “But I’m not taking you to Prussia tonight.”

 

“Why not?” she wonders, “’m not tired,” she begins to protest, but he interrupts her in gravelly voice that thrums through her like the sultry chords of the last song.

 

“I don’t need to take you to Prussia to prove that I can dance,” he murmurs in her ear as his hands curl at her hips.

 

She licks her lips and he smiles. That’s the only warning she gets before he’s whirling her round and round the console until she’s dizzy. She giggles and shrieks as he dips her so low that her hair trails along the grating. He suddenly freezes and her breath catches at the way he’s gazing at her with all of the gravity of a thousand planets. She’s terrified that this is the moment he runs, that this is when he lets her down “easy”, that this is when he finally drops her.

 

“Don’t let me fall,” she squeaks, scrabbling at his sleeves.

 

“Too late,” he whispers and lowers his lips to her throat.

 

Rose gasps as he swiftly pulls her back up and into the steps of an impromptu tango that ends some time later with swollen lips, mussed hair, racing hearts and her pressed against her bedroom door.

 

“Are you convinced yet?” he asks huskily and grinds against her.

 

“Might need some more proof,” she pants, tugging on his tie and fumbling with the doorknob behind her.

 

He’s more than happy to prove himself.

 

And that night they _dance_.

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this for a fall tumblr prompt a while ago, figured I’d repost it here. A bit too cliché, but I hope it made you smile!


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